


Kitchen Sink

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-18
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 20,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: [ dribble drabble ]  a collection of moments that are rarely related, are tripping over themselves, and are trying so very, very hard to tug at some heartstrings.





	1. Sweet Parting

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Disclaimer: nothing’s mind.**

 

Potter has a girlfriend.

Lily comes to this realization over pancakes, sugary syrup turning sour in her mouth. She places her fork down carefully, dabs at the corners of her lips with her napkin, and focuses her attention on the couple seated a few benches away. 

It is not a new development, she muses, pools of emerald lingering on the couple. Arlene Fitzer had begun sitting with the Marauders a few weeks earlier, her hand sliding into James’ larger one for the first time after breakfast last Tuesday. 

She does not know what to make of it. She does not think James has ever looked at Arlene with anything besides friendship in his intoxicating gaze. At least until now, she admits to herself, for they do seem happy. 

She does not know how she feels about the situation. Her friends have always teased her that the moment James began looking elsewhere would be the moment she realized she had feelings for him. Her forehead creases, she stares at James while she studies herself inwardly. Is she really that fickle?

No, she decides. It is not that she wishes she was the one James had his arm around. It is more of…an acknowledgement of how empty her life really is without his constant presence and flirtation. She has been quieter than usual, busying herself by poring over her work, for James had always taken up much of her time. Until now.

She hesitates, then tears her eyes away, and struggles to shake free of the feeling that she’d lost something, for she is entirely certain that that something had not been hers to begin with. She shakes her head, shakes the scattered thoughts away, and turns back to her friends, rejoining the conversation with a vengeance.

It is the first time the possibility has entered her mind that James Potter may not play a lasting role in her life. 

**To any of my faithful FMD readers who may be reading this: I truly am sorry. I do plan on updating. I’m suffering from a lack of inspiration. I lied when I said I’d have more time to write at home. I have less. Please bear with me. I’m going on vacation next week, otherwise I’d set a deadline for myself. I CAN promise this: I have not abandoned it.**

 

 

**Thanks for reading, as always**

**lark**


	2. Spinning Dizzy Girl

“James?”

Her voice is strangely high-pitched and the question is followed by a hiccup and a giggle. He sighs, tugging at the laces of her shoes and pulling them loose and free.

“Yes?”

“I think I’m drunk.” 

He can’t but smile, the small smile that tugs at one side of his mouth, the gentle upturning of his lips that seems to only occur when she’s around, far different from the devilish, life-loving grin he shares with the rest of the world. 

“I’d say that’s a good possibility.” 

“Shouldn’t you be in detention?” She sits up and squints at him, one disapproving finger pointing into his face.

“No, but we should both be in bed.” 

She glances around, as if realizing for the first time where she is. Heads Rooms. 

“Ah.” 

“Why don’t you go put your pajamas on and go to sleep? You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning if you stay up too late.” 

He rises to get her a glass of water, planning on dropping a smidge of Hangover Potion into it. Not enough to completely cure it, for she does need to learn about the consequences of too much alcohol, but enough to keep her from having to stay in bed. 

“You should be drinking. You scored a baaaajilllllionnnn points!”

He smiles again, shakes his head. “A little less than that.”

“You know, I don’t really remember drinking that much. I think I’m a lightweight. My father would be so disappointed.”

He chuckles. “Lesson number one: never accept a drink from Sirius. He’ll spike your drink so slyly, it’s like magic. In fact, he has a spell he uses.”

“Sirius wouldn’t do that,” she scoffs, indignant, “he’s my best friend.”

He outright laughs. “Of course he is.” He’s glad to see that at least one thing in the world, strong rum, can topple Lily Evans from her perch. 

“So are you, you know. Bestest. But I’d never tell you in real life.” She smiles, nearly falling into him as she rises, wobbling for a moment before teetering off to her room, one hand waving before she disappears.

He blinks, chastises himself silently, and heads off to bed. He jolts awake before he is fully asleep to the sound of his door opening. Lily, framed in light from the hallway, thrusts her lower lip at him pleadingly.

“My room is spinning. Can I sleep with you?”

He hesitates, but she’s always been far stronger when she wants something, and she climbs into bed next to him before he can even reply. He debates silently whether he should move to the floor, or the couch in the common room, and give her his bed, but then she snuggles next to him, her cheek resting upon his chest and her hair falling across his pillow and he can’t move.

His room spins him to sleep now and he closes his eyes, terrified of the dizziness. 


	3. Shake Me

He’s been giving her those looks again. 

It makes her nervous, the way he stares and studies. Her hand shakes as she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and she forces a smile whenever her eyes stray across his path. 

There’s a line he won’t cross; he’s not the same person that she used to take pleasure from rejecting. But his flirtations with other girls have stopped and he finds various reasons to approach her concerning Head duties, ample excuses to stand close, very close to her. She likes to think that everyone has a bubble of personal space around themselves, but he has made it his hobby to invade hers. 

She had thought he was finished with her. She is shocked by the relief that runs through her when she realizes how wrong she was.  

She finds herself growing angrier at him with each look he sends her way, though he wouldn’t be able to guess from the smile that manifests in his presence. 

He seems to enjoy testing her boundaries, making it difficult for her to maneuver around him, allowing body parts to brush against each other periodically. She blushes frequently, dropping her gaze, and wonders when she became so transparent. 

He wants to kiss her, she knows this, but they both know she isn’t ready for any of that.  

This thing between them, she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing. She’s pretty sure it could go either way. 

She doesn’t know if she wants him to kiss her. On some level, she’s fairly certain she’s begging for it. And on another, she suspects she’s pushing him away with one hand. No means no. 

She kisses someone else and doesn’t stop it from getting back to him. He withdraws, hurting, but it’s not enough. He returns, just like they both knew he would, but they know it has to come from her, if at all. 

When she leans in to allow their lips to gently brush for the first time, she decides a broken heart is better than an unused one. 


	4. Hole

**One curse word makes this chapter a PG-13 rating, but I did not bump the entire piece up to that rating. If this is unacceptable, please let me know in a review (or some sort of message) and I will change it asap.**

 

 

“I cheated on you.”

She knows these words will burn a hole through him, tearing and ripping at flesh until there’s nothing left. 

He stares, as if it’s some kind of joke. He even smiles, his eyes puzzled. 

“I just thought you should know.”

He realizes she’s serious and the smile fades. His expression seems vacant without the laughter in his eyes. 

“Who.” Barely a question. More of a demand. 

“It’s not important.”

“ _Who_.” 

“A Muggle. During Christmas.” 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He glances away, then at her again, then away, as if still in disbelief. 

“I’ll understand whatever you want to do now. I just couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”

He stares off out the window, his jaw set. She sees him imagining her with someone that isn’t him. His fists clench and he makes a motion to punch at the wall adjacent to their table, before he shakes his head, seeming defeated. 

“Merlin… _fuck you, Lily_.” One last withering glare and he’s storming out the door, out of her life. 

The tears fall on cue, and she swipes at them frantically. This had been what she wanted. She hadn’t actually done anything with a Muggle, or anyone. In fact, she was fairly certain she was at a point in her life where she could not picture herself with anyone, ever. Except for James.

So why? 

She purses her lips, realizing she didn’t know why. Was she scared? Terrified. 

Only now she wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of: being with James, or going on without him.

**I’ve gotten a review or two about the first drabble. I hadn’t planned a second part, but now I think I’ll revisit it, see what I come with.**

 

**Thanks for reading, as always,** **J**

 

**lark**


	5. Space

_i know you might roll your eyes at this_

_but i'm so glad that you exist_

 

She doesn’t hate him anymore. He comes to this realization during an ordinary morning in Transfiguration. 

She stops next to his table for a moment on her way to her usual seat, Sirius not having arrived yet to class, with a question about the schedule due for next month. 

Sirius, sauntering in, assesses the situation and sneaks around her to steal her usual seat. She turns to find him there when class is about to begin and hesitates, puzzled for a moment, before pulling out the seat next to James and plopping down next to him, flashing a dazzling smile, her eyes beaming at him. 

He’s stunned. He can’t quite think of a way to repay Sirius for making his life complete. He could die a happy man right now. 

She taps her quill against the desk absently, and he wonders if she’s nervous. Girls tell him all the time that he makes them nervous. But Lily is not like other girls. 

Their eyes meet and she blinks, then leans closer to whisper, “You played really well on Saturday.”

Then she looks away, her attention focused on McGonagall once again. He stares at the side of her face for a long moment, before tearing his eyes away, gazing down at the desk’s surface and struggling to keep from grinning obviously. He studies the distance between his hand and hers, both wrists laid down adjacently on the table, inches from each other.

Somehow, the space between him and Lily doesn’t seem quite so daunting anymore.

**Lyrics by The Weakerthans**

 

 

 

**Thank you for reading.**


	6. Hole, Continued

_I don’t know if I could stand another hand upon you._

 

She spent two hours on her hair, finding the perfect spot for each silken strand. 

She caressed every inch of her skin with makeup, so that her eyes ‘pop!’ and her freckles are visible only when close enough for a kiss. 

She knows this dress was made for her, in color and shape. She has never felt worthy of a compliment before tonight, when finally she looks in the mirror and feels satisfied with herself. 

And yet when she meets her date downstairs in the Great Hall and his hands shake as he extends flowers clenched in a tightly closed fist and his lips practically chafe as he stutters about how beautiful she looks, she feels as if he’s punched her. 

She glances past him, to where James has collected his own date, and she finds it hard to breathe, the corset-like dress holding in each desperate gasp for air. 

She sizes the other girl up, finds herself wanting, and can vaguely register that Ben, or Frank, or Steve, or whatever his name is, is attempting to get her attention again, shaking the flowers in her face. James laughs at something the girl says, and it is a cruel blow. _She_ used to make him laugh. 

James touches the girl’s arm to steer her into the ball and the corresponding section of her own body ignites a fierce flame, as if in sympathy, or perhaps indignation, as the girl gazes up at him adoringly. 

She catches sight of her own reflection in one of the large doors leading into the Hall: forehead creased, wide eyes brimming, a lost, destroyed expression. 

He hadn’t even _noticed_ her. 

Suddenly, every moment she spent doing herself up feels like a waste, for there’s no cover-up in the cosmetic world that can disguise how hollow she feels. 

S _he will love you more than I could:_

_She who dares to stand where I stood._

**missy higgins**

 

 

 

**thank you for reading, as always**

 

**yes, there will be another part to this drabble series within a drabble collection, don’t worry. i am going through some personal troubles (a friend being cruel, mainly) and thus, my work reflects it right now, for which i apologize. please review, even if it’s a complaint.**


	7. Stupor

_You were everything for a little while._

 

Even he had thought that the day Lily Evans gave in to his advances would be the day he no longer wanted her. 

After all, isn’t that how the male mind works? Always seeking a challenge, always wanting what one can’t have, lusting over the lure of rejection. Lily, for James, had been an addiction of the most intoxicating kind, a drug, a drink, a stimulant coursing boldly through his veins. 

And yet, the day she finally shyly slips her hand into his, though stubbornly refusing to look at him, it feels like a sunrise, not a sunset, a beginning, not an end. 

He pulls his hand back, eliciting a hurt look from her. They’d all been right, hadn’t they? But then he wraps both arms around her, squeezing her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He doesn’t need a kiss, not yet, he doesn’t need to force it, he doesn’t need words, he just needs her. 

And he feels, oddly enough, like a recovering alcoholic about to enter a bar with a pocketful of bills. 

He breathes her in once, twice, a third time, and allows the wagon to leave him behind.

 

**missy higgins again, she’s awesome, go listen to her (www.missyhiggins.com, listen to _where i stood_ , _100 round the bends_ , and _steer_ )**

 

**thank you for reading, as always**


	8. Perspective

James knows.

Oh, Remus thinks he is subtle enough, but James knows him too well. 

And he had never really thought, in his conceited mind, that Moony was much of a threat. At least, not until he showed up for the first day of seventh year with his badge displayed proudly on his chest, _finally, this will show her_ , and she had blinked at him, half-annoyed and half-impatient as she asked, “Why do you have Remus’s badge?”

Offended, James had broken the news to her, and the subsequent look of dismay had ended the fantasy he’d been holding onto of what this day and this badge would bring. 

And from that moment on, he took his position very seriously and he didn’t do so much as throw a flirtatious smile Lily’s way. 

But somewhere along the way, he wondered how much it was all going to cost him, anyway. Because if trying to act like Moony was what it took to land on Lily’s radar, well, sure, he’d do it. 

But it wasn’t going to shake the feeling that really, truly, his best friend was the one she should be with, the one she'd inevitably love in the end. 


	9. Hardly

“Whore.”

She blinks at him, her attention caught from where it had been focused on her essay. “’Scuse me?”

“You heard me.” He grins, winking at her.

“James,” she begins, sounding exhausted, “just because I have agreed to be seen in public with you does not mean you can start with the antagonizing every time you get bored.” 

She arches a brow at the blank sheet of parchment in front of him that he’s been blatantly ignoring for the past half hour.

“Well, I’m not bored _now_ ,” he argues, reaching across the table and snatching her quill. 

“I have work to do,” she tells him, trying to grab it back, but failing. 

“Of course you do, you little minx,” he teases, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “You’re always working so _hard_.” 

“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. 

“Me?” He holds his hands out innocently. “Not a thing.”

“You’re…you’re sexually harassing me.”

“That, among things I _could_ do, is not what I would choose to do to you, physically speaking, of course.” 

She blinks at him slowly, processing. “I’m pretty sure that that sentence made sense in your head. And I’m also pretty sure that, again, there is some kind of joke in there that’s causing you to smirk at me like that. And _furthermore_ , I’m pretty sure that whatever you’re doing here, whether it’s flirting, instigating, or simply allowing word vomit to school your brain for the day, I really, really don’t care.”

Undaunted, he continues to hold the quill out of reach. A tense moment of eye contact is broken by the arrival of several Gryffindor sixth year girls into the Common Room. 

She boldly clears her throat. “Why, James, I’m sorry you don’t believe me, but _really_ , YOU DO HAVE THE SMALLEST PACKAGE I’VE EVER SEEN.”

Pleased with herself, she smirks at him, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms lazily, victoriously above her head. Surely, he’ll have no response for that. 

“And just how many _packages_ have you unwrapped, Lily? You adorable little tramp.” 

It’s in that moment, with James grinning at her devilishly, playfully, that she slowly accepts the fact that even she would be surprised if the first fight James ever lost was the one for her heart. 

 

 

**I kind of liked this one. I had a lot of fun writing it, actually. I think sometimes when we write James/Lily stories, we forget that they’re young and can act immature and make each other angry and amused and generally act like 17 year old girls and boys. I'm one of the most guilty people of glorifying their relationship, when really, even Ms. Rowling pointed their flaws out to us.**

 

**This drabble is meant to take place before they’re dating, when they’re in the tentative friend phase, though this James (for I believe I, and whoever else has ever written a drabble collection, have created multiple Jameses in _Kitchen Sink_ ) does not truly possess the ability to ever view Lily as _just a friend_. And thus, here we have one of his many attempts at flirting, and also the gentle bickering between them, and in the end, James does always win, doesn’t he?**

 

**I fear that my need to explain myself with this piece means it might be weaker with the others, for I didn’t feel pressed for an author’s note with those. Ah, well.**

 

**Thanks for reading, as always!**


	10. Must Be Italian

_We are so fragile and our cracking bones make noise._

“Oh, my God,” she more breathes than says, air expelled from her lungs fiercely and heartbreakingly. 

It is her own fault, she tells herself, standing there, staring. She allowed herself to trust, to be blind to this gray, damnable murky gray, area of her life. 

_You knew better, Lily Marie_. 

There in the corridor, in the shadow of James and Rosalie, _that tramp_ , she realizes how breakable she really is. 

She reaches up with one hand, runs her fingers along her ribs, as if checking something. She continues to stare, her eyes glued to the scene as if it’s a highway accident. 

She has paled, as if the blood has rushed away from her skin, hurrying along through her to reach her chest desperately. She lays a palm across her left breast, as if she, like her veins, is unsure if there will be a rhythm there. 

And when, half a heartbeat later, James pushes the girl away from him angrily, demanding an explanation, she feels the drum quicken beneath her hand. 

It _had_ seemed rather one-sided, hadn’t it? _Hadn’t it??_

She blinks, remembering when she’d caught one of her ex-boyfriends in the act of cheating. She’d slapped him, good and hard, and he’d had a handprint on his face for two days, while she happily began dating someone else. This…this reaction had been far, _far_ different, nearly light years away from the former.

She felt as if her heart had, not broken, but simply given up. She felt like crying, like lying in bed for days, like eating chocolate. She had felt, quite honestly, like the world had ended. 

James, out of breath from yelling, turns, as if to storm off, and sees her standing there, leaning against the wall with eyes threatening to spill over. His face turns white, and he pauses in his step, before quickening it, words already spewing out desperately.

“Lily, _I can explain_ , I swear, I know it looks bad, but I _swear-_ ”

“It’s okay,” she says, and she’s smiling, prompting a perplexed expression from him, even as he grabs both her hands tightly, urgently.

“I guess I really do love you after all, don’t I?”

 

**A very clichéd moment, yes, yes, I apologize, but I thought I could spin it slightly.**

 

**Lyrics at the top by Ingrid Michaelson (you might recognize her from greys and such! She is awesome to listen to while writing!** **J )**

 

**Also, thank to you everyone who has had a kind word about my friend problems. They’re not resolved, exactly, but I’m through worrying, and that’s partly in thanks to your advice/support. You’re right, writing is an awesome escape.**

 

**Thank you for reading, as always.**


	11. Hole, Further

He wished for the past. 

Sure, his heart had felt wanting, lacking, needing something (i.e. her hair on his pillow, her body in his arms, her smile directed at him). But that was far better, far more manageable, than this inexplicable feeling of emptiness, of hollowness, of vacancy. At least back in that life (for he had convinced himself that he lived in two different eras now: B.L. and A.L., Before Lily and After Lily), there had been hope. He felt now, quite simply, as if what rested delicately within his chest cavity was no longer of any notable significance to his life or his health. 

And yet, even though the words had come from her own mouth, the very mouth he had kissed with such ease and longing these past few months, he still found himself in disbelief. _Lily, cheat on him? Reach into his chest and squeeze the life out of him?_ No, it couldn’t be. 

And yet, he told himself as a daily reminder, it was. 

But, he mused, it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like they’d been going through a rough patch, far from it. He’d been waiting for the proverbial hat to drop, for her old annoyed expression to return, for the fondness in her eyes to flee. But it hadn’t. They’d been _happy_ , the type of sickeningly happy couple that people roll their eyes at. 

Even as she told him that she’d allowed another to touch her the way he did, her eyes had been shining at him, begging for him, wanting him.

That hadn’t been the gaze of someone who had moved on, who desired someone else, who was trying to hurt him. It had been the look of someone who was crazy in love with him, who was half-losing her mind from being just a foot away from him, who nearly had to sit on her hands to keep from touching him. 

If he could live in the moment before those words left her mouth, he would in an instant. If he could take back the knowledge, he would. He’d love her blissfully, obliviously.  

He hated himself for it, but he thought if she had just tried a little after the initial falling out, had attempted to talk to him, to apologize, to win him back, he would have taken her into his arms and forgiven her. Instead, they tiptoed around each other, and it was worse than the days when they’d been at each other’s throats, because he wasn’t made to simply coexist innocently with someone who had once made his world stop spinning, if only briefly, long enough for his skin to burn and his lips to curl.

He hates himself for missing her. He hates the pity looks from his friends, hates the girls trying to be his rebound, hates this Muggle, this stupid bloke who tried to take something, someone, that belonged to someone else. And Lily _had_ been his, the same way he’d been hers. 

He thinks, pathetically, that in a sick and twisted way, he misses belonging to someone. 

He’d give anything to find the bloke, the one who, dramatics aside, ruined his life. Finally, _finally_ , he had had a purpose. And now?

Now the only thing that felt certain about his future was that the vacancy sign his heart had illuminated wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

_I want to burn the sheets that smell like your skin._

 

**Ingrid Michaelson again.** **Go listennnnnnnnnnn. I’m serious. Listen to it while you read this. (http://www.myspace.com/ingridmichaelson)**


	12. Decimal Places

James has his arm around her, his fingers are drawing tiny, intoxicating circles on her skin, but his focus is elsewhere. 

She listens, gazing with rapt attention at the boys, no, the men, that he has surrounded himself with for the majority of his life. 

Peter, his eyes constantly flickering back and forth between Sirius and James, clearly uncertain who is more worthy of adoration. For a moment, she tells herself she’s surprised he isn’t panting or drooling, before chastising herself silently. He is a good friend, he has always been kind to her, but she is always forcing herself not to look upon him as a tagalong. 

Remus, his face haggard, more wrinkles than usual, purple crescents underneath his eyelids. She glances out the window briefly, notes the cycle, and feels a pang of sympathy, of compassion, of pain for him. Out of James’s friends, she knows she is most like Remus, and not simply because they were prefects together. They both take their work seriously, but cherish moments in which they can good off. They’re both bright, but not overly so, pale in comparison to the Potters and the Blacks of the world. They’re both opinionated, both blind to the faults in the ones they love, both are old souls. Sometimes, she muses, studying his look of exhaustion, she isn’t sure just how old. 

And Sirius, his hair careless and yet perfectly tempting, no hiding the Black good looks. He and James are the stronger life forces of the group, the presence that can’t be denied. His barking laugh resounds in the hallways, he finds it difficult to sit still for very long, and he’s fiercely loyal. He loves her, like a little sister, and she knows he has tentatively begun trying to replace the family he left behind. 

The front the four create seems like an unstoppable one. She sometimes pictures life without James and, while she shudders to think of it, she knows she could have just as easily fallen for another of the group, had he not existed. Remus, his searching eyes seeming to see so much more about her than she did. Sirius, his desperate need for a home for his heart. Peter, his fierce determination to be part of something, anything. 

She shivers involuntarily and James pulls her closer, leaning to look her in the eye. “Want to move closer to the fire?”

She shakes her head, mute, simply laying her head on his chest and snuggling closer. He presses a kiss into her hair, thoughtfully not questioning her uncharacteristic silence, sensing, as always, what she needed. The conversation continues around them, but James has dropped out, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to warm her. 

He loves so deeply and so openly that it scares her. He loves Sirius as if they were fully related; he confesses embarrassedly one evening that the two of them performed a dramatic blood brothers ritual when they were younger, complete with ceremonial dagger and all. He had held up his hand as he told the story, pointing to the faint, raised line running across his palm. She had run her fingers across it dreamily, and when she looked up, saw the depth of emotions he constantly had up his sleeve, she knew for the first time that she had found her heart’s mate. 

She continues to study the group. She has grown used to sharing James, when past boyfriends had not had to divide their attention. This is James Potter, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, Star Student, Dumbledore’s Boy, Marauder, Prongs. The list could go on and on. And this was just the Hogwarts James. Soon, she knows, he’ll be unleashed out into the world and Merlin only knows how many people will command his attention then. 

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, and she blinks, certain as always that he can read her thoughts, sense her insecurities, feel her doubts that need to be soothed. She smiles, moving to sit up so she can look at him, but he’s faster, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he stands. 

“Good night,” he calls loudly, alerting the entire population of the Common Room to his departure before a quieter goodbye to his friends. 

Lily, laughing, pounds on his back with her fists, a half-hearted plea to be put down leaving her lips. He carries her out the portrait hole, heading through the corridors to the Head Rooms. 

“James, I really can walk,” she says, poking him with a slender finger. 

He hesitates, and then puts her down, trapping her against a wall in the hold of his arms. 

“Oh, really?” he asks, leaning ever closer and breathing gently across her collarbone, her jaw line, her mouth. 

“James,” she breathes as he lingers teasingly over her lips, and her knees wobble as if on cue, nearly sending her to the ground had he not snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. 

“See? James knows better,” he says, smirking.

She struggles to think of something to say, drinking in his face with her eyes, waiting desperately for-

He kisses her then and she smiles against him. 

Let the future try to take him. For now, he’s hers. 

 

**Thank you for all your kind reviews. They make me smile a lot.**

 

**Congratulations to all Hourglass winners!! I’ve been reading all the stories and, really, I think you’re all amazing.**

 

 

**Thanks for reading, as always**

 

**Lark**


	13. Desperate Sky

_Will you sleep tonight or will you think of me?_

Of course she can’t sleep. 

She huffs out a long, dramatic breath, as if that will help. Stares at the ceiling, as if there’s an answer.

_It’s written in the stars, you know_. 

His words flash through her mind and she practically winces, having gone a whole thirty seconds without hearing his voice, or seeing his face for that matter, in her thoughts. She rises, throwing off her blankets. Storms to the window. 

“ _I_ don’t see anything,” she mutters, glaring up at the twinkling sky. 

She turns, glowering at the wall that separates her bedchamber from his. 

He knows. Oh, he hasn’t come out and said anything, exactly, but it’s not like she’s exactly subtle. She’s never been very good at hiding her emotions. 

And, no, it’s not as if she flirts with him or anything. She’d sooner throw herself at Malfoy. But she’s caught herself smiling constantly when he’s around and periodically resembling a tomato whenever he addresses her directly. It doesn’t take a genius to realize why she’s been acting so oddly. And his random, cryptic comments are gentle persuasion, attempting to win her over still. 

He doesn’t just know, he knows _her_ , knows that she doesn’t want to feel this way, that she won’t act on these emotions, that she is doing everything she can to avoid confronting them or him. 

“I will not think of James, I will not think of James, I will not think of James.”

She lays down again, closes her eyes. 

Dreams of messy hair and glasses. 

 

**Boxcar Racer at the top.**

**Thank you for reading.**


	14. Leaves

“I’d like a fall wedding, Evans, how about you?”

His tone is light, musing, almost distracted.

She glances up, startled out of her concentration on the schedule for next month. “Potter, for the final time, I am _never_ going to marry you. Not in the fall, not in the summer, not in the spring, and _definitely_ notin the winter.”

“Relax, Evans, I wasn’t proposing.”

Dry, amused. 

She blinks at the innocence in their conversation. 

“I’m just sayin’, when I finally find that special girl…I’d like a fall wedding, ya know?”

She stares, mouth agape. 

“But…” 

He arches a brow. 

“But who is she?” 

He smiles. “I don’t know. But she’s out there. And she’ll love me. That’s all I’m assuming. That’s all I really need, right?”

“But…”

Both eyebrows elevate.

“But you don’t want to marry me?” 

The question is whined pathetically, almost a desperate plea, and there is a silence as he stares at her, unable to blink.

He wished he’d realized somewhat earlier in life that Lily Evans was the most infuriating, most bipolar, craziest girl he’d ever met. As it was, he was pretty sure it was a little late to convince himself that it made a difference at all.

 

**Hmm. Hehe. A little more lighthearted than the latest ones. I have a sequel planned to this one, but I don’t feel like writing it right away.**

**Thanks for reading**

**Love,**

**lark**


	15. Leaves, Falling

“Why a fall wedding?”

It is casually proposed, with a sidelong glance.

He answers with a blank stare, puzzled. 

“You said, remember, back in October, that you’d like a fall wedding.”

“Ah.” A chuckle, a crease in the edges of his mouth. 

“You know, for when you find _that girl_.” She’s uneasy, realizing she should have tested the ice first. It’s much too thin. 

Another low, husky chuckle. “I remember now.”

A silence, stretching on and around them. 

“So…why?” 

He gazes at her, as if searching. Uncomfortable, she reddens, but cannot look away. They’ve been testing boundaries lately, their friendship skating desperately between the frost of together or not, but here, now, the risk seems worth it. 

He smiles, glances down at his hands briefly. She notices a tremble in his fingers, and tenses up, certain now she should have stayed on firm footing. 

When he looks up, his stare is fierce, undeniable, trapping her, refusing to let her waver. 

“Fall because…your hair will match the trees. And after the ceremony, once you’re really and truly mine and mine alone, I’ll pick you up, and you’ll be laughing, of course, maybe crying a little, and I’ll carry you outside, and we’ll roll around in the leaves and I won’t know where you end and the world begins, because you’re _the same_. At least to me.”

It’s his turn to redden, but he still stubbornly holds her gaze, the sincerity in his golden eyes smacking her in the face. And it’s her turn to have hands that shake, and she knows, she _knows_ she should reach out for him, grab his hand, _touch him_. But she’s still so bloody scared and now he’s made it even worse, but at the same time better. She can’t decide.

“Fall would be nice.” 

The smile leaves his eyes, but not the determination, and he nods at her words, dropping his gaze back down to his work, discussion over. 

She stares at him for a long time, having finally realized how wrong she’d been about his sincerity. 

The next day in class, her mind wandering, she stares down at her parchment in utter disbelief at what she’d doodled distractedly.

_Mrs. Lily Potter_.

 

**Alright, I lied. Right after I posted the last one, I couldn’t stop thinking about what else I wanted from it, even though I said I wasn’t going to write it yet. So here it is. It wasn’t that popular with you guys (a lot of you seem to really enjoy the Hole series), but I think it might be my favorite out of the whole Kitchen Sink collection. I’m not sure. I’m obsessed with figuring out the perfect moments in which they realize things about each other.**

**Thank you for reading, as always. Let me know what you think.**

**Lark**


	16. Hopeless

“James, you can’t do this to me.” She’s desperate, anxious. Tries to pull away. 

“ _I don’t understand_.” He’s holding her, both of her tiny, frail wrists contained in one of his large, manly, Quidditch-playing hands. “This is good. _We’re_ good.” 

He presses her hands against his chest earnestly, as if feeling his heart beating erratically and passionately will change her mind. It won’t. 

“ _James_ ,” she says, and when she looks up at him, her eyes are brimming, and he hates himself in that moment, feeling responsible for her tears. 

“James, you have to let me go.”

“But _why?_ ” Even as he protests, his grip loosens and allows her to slip away. 

“I don’t know how to be with you yet.”

They’re both breathing hard; feeling emotions this strong requires too much energy. 

“You have to let me learn, James. You have to let me figure out how to love you.”

“Is it really that hard?” He laughs, but it tastes bitter in his mouth. 

“No, Merlin’s beard _, no_ ,” she exclaims, and she’s close again, resting a hand on his cheek. He places his own hand over it, pleading with his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he knows she means it, even if it doesn’t help. 

“It’s okay.” It isn’t. 

She nods, backs away, and flees, possibly into another’s arms. The thought stops the rhythm in his chest. 

It is the first time he really, truly loses hope.

 

 

**Question – Are you still struggling with FMD?**

**Answer- Yes. I’m sorry. It doesn’t help that Kitchen Sink is a lot more popular, and a lot easier to write and edit and update. I haven’t abandoned FMD, I swear. I promise an update before August.**

**Just got back from seeing OotP.** **Brilliant. I think it was probably the toughest book to write a screenplay for so far. Loved Tonks. Cried about Sirius. Drooled over Dan and Rupert. Emma Watson gets more gorgeous every time I see her. I hope Bellatrix dies in the last book. It was a pretty funny movie, too. LOVED Luna. I’m babbling, I’ll stop.**

**Thank you for reading. Hole is next, I think. Possibly finished with it after that.**

**Lark**


	17. Slowly Sizzling Silver

**Let me say really quickly that I apologize for the last chapter. I’ve been rereading Twilight and New Moon the past week or so (LOVE THEM) and I think it put me in a melodramatic romantic mood, which doesn’t work for how I write, I don’t think. (Stephenie Meyer, on the other hand….sigh, jealous!) It also doesn’t work with how I really, truly see Lily and James in my head (by the way, anyone else a little irked that we got gipped with the Pensieve scene in the movie? Thought the movie was brilliant in general, but I didn’t even SEE Lily! Or Remus! Or Sirius! I know that they were technically in the scene, but it went so fast…wah) and so yes, apologies. I debated taking it down…but I’m not ASHAMED of it, really, so there it is. But anyway, here _we_ are!**

 

“Will you still love me when all my hair goes gray?” She twirls a copper-colored strand at him, widening her eyes comically. 

“Of course not,” he says, looking bored. 

She glares. “You better be joking.”

He smirks, pulls her closer, buries his face in the flaming silk she knows he adores. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If it goes gray, you mean?” She’s pleased, picturing them growing old together. 

“Well, technically, I suppose I’d still love you,” he teases. “But it won’t come to that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She’s briefly hurt, thinking he means he can’t see himself with her long enough for her hair to turn colors.

“This fire will never burn out,” he replies, holding up a crimson lock as evidence. 

It’s ironically tragic, in the end, that Lily’s hair never does get a chance to fade. 


	18. Hole, Digging

_They tell me your passion’s gone away._

He watches. 

She stares off into another world listlessly, her quill inactive on the desk. Completely oblivious to the professor’s lecture, her eyes cloud over and her mind wanders. 

She’s been like this for weeks, but he’s finally allowing himself to notice. It doesn’t hurt as much to look at her, to study her features as he once felt free to do. In fact, he finds it hurts to see her without her usual smile, without the brightness in her eyes. She is a shell, an empty box, a room with no furniture, a hollow void where Lily used to preside. 

Class concludes and he stays seated, observing her remaining where she is until her friend taps her on the shoulder, a concerned expression present that mirrors his own. 

She is no better at meals or in the Common Room or during meetings with the prefects. She is not the girl he knew. She has not the fire nor the spirit he fell in love with, possesses no laughter in her gaze. This is not the girl who so neatly cleaned him of all emotion, who had broken him down like no other girl could. 

He knows he is just as bad. Oh, he can keep up appearances. But Sirius and Remus and Peter know better and he is not oblivious to the worried looks that have been accumulating, the quiet, distressed tones when they think he’s out of earshot. He, too, is worried. Worried that she has stripped him of his ability to love again, to _feel_ again. And, truthfully, he does not want to feel if it cannot measure up to how he felt with her. And nothing can. 

He finds he cannot take it any longer. Grabs her arm after a meeting, burning both their skin from the contact. They leap backwards from each other almost comically, tortured eyes meeting and wanting. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, squeezing the hand that had touched her into a fist. 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, looking down at her feet.

“Lily…”

She waits, unhelpful. 

“What was his name?”

She blinks, puzzled. The first true expression he’s seen from her in days. “Who?”

“The Muggle. From Christmas holiday.”

There is such sheer panic in her eyes as she stares at him that he freezes, almost feeling frightened himself. 

“There was no Muggle.” Not a question. He’s certain. 

She shakes her head slowly, tears forming. 

“I _knew_ , I knew you wouldn’t cheat, Lily, I just knew, I always knew!”

The tears gather, slide down her face. And suddenly, he realizes that he shouldn’t be happy. That, somehow, this scenario is even worse. 

“I’m sorry, James,” she whispers, and bolts past him through the doorway, too quickly for him to stop her. 

And, well, he’d been empty before the truth had been revealed. But now? Now he felt as if someone had taken a shovel to his soul, determined to drain him of every last bit of feeling he had.  

 

**So a lot of people love Stephenie Meyer =)=) Yes, I am SO excited for Eclipse. I’ve been itching to try my hand at writing some fics in the Forks world, but have been unable to find a community (I haven’t tried very hard to find one, so feel free to suggest a place).**

**Also, I’m getting pretty bored of not having an icon. But I don’t know what to do about that? Do I have to, like, make one? Or…..I don’t even know. Can someone help me out with that? I mean, if I can just upload any picture, I guess that’s cool? So, yeah, help!**

**Thanks for readinggggg, I lied, there will be one more Hole chapter.**

**lark**


	19. The Good Guy

“Remus likes you.” His voice is cautious, as if treading carefully in dangerous territory. 

She looks up at him, offers a smile. “All your friends like me.” 

He forces a smile in return, debating letting it go. But he can’t. “You know what I mean, Lily.”

She’s hesitant. Looks away. “Yeah.”

“He’s a good guy.” Still cautious.

“Yeah.”

He frowns, desperate. “One of the best I know.”

“Me too.”

His heart sinks. “Ah.”

She’s slightly puzzled, looking at him. “James, are you alright?”

“Fine.” He feigns absorption in his work. 

She’s not fooled, but balks at testing the boundaries between them. Some time passes, with her shooting tiny looks of concern at him from underneath her eyelashes. Finally, he speaks.

“It’s just, Remus doesn’t like girls very often. So don’t hurt him, please.”

She’s astonished. “James…do you _want_ me to go out with Remus?”

She hates herself a little bit for feeling hurt. 

“N-no.” He’s honest, at least. “Unless…you want to.” 

She stares him down, her expression oddly fierce. “You know that I don’t.”

“I guess.” He’s avoiding, proverbially dancing away. 

“James.”

He arches a brow.

“If you don’t ask me out soon, I just might go out with Remus.” 

And she gathers her books up in her arms and marches proudly away, crimson locks sailing out behind her. 

“Yeah…you _wish_ I’d ask you out, Lily!”

He sits there for a moment, feeling some of his old bravado return, before smacking himself in the forehead and leaping up to chase after her. 

As an after thought, he reminds himself that he owes both gratitude and apologies to Remus. 

 

**I don’t like this one. That’s all I have to say about it. Posting it anyway, cause I know there are some Remus/Lily shippers lying around.**

**Hmm. I forgot a disclaimer in the last chapter. The line at the top is from that ‘Bad Day’ song by Daniel Powter. That line ate at me, had to write something about it.**

**Womp. Review, please. I’m losing motivation a little bit. Which could be good, I’ve been wanting to return to FMD. Djfdkjfds….k, thanks for reading.**

**lark**


	20. Moving Along

**Ack, I uploaded the wrong document at first and didn't realize for a while, sorry for those who read it and were confused. I do plan on reposting it, it's something different from me, but unfortunately UR.org isn't letting me create a new story...is anyone else having trouble, or is it my computer or something?? Wah. Help, please!**

 

He realizes, in his own way, that if he wants to be friends with Lily, he's going to have to get over her first. She won't trust him unless he does. And they won't be _real_ friends unless he does. There's nothing fake about what he wants from her. 

 And so he stops with the flirting and he quits it with the date proposals and he even turns his attention elsewhere, a feat he would have thought impossible. He refuses to turn green at the sight of her with another and he feels... _something_...when he goes to Hogsmeade with his own date. Something good? Something bad? It's up in the air. 

 Before long, the resentment in her eyes has faded and the smile she offers him is genuine. It's been his fantasy for years now, but it's altered, different, changed. It's okay with him, he thinks.

 He finds it a bit pathetic that he would do anything just to keep Lily Evans in his life.

 

 


	21. Beginnings

_You’re every minute of my everyday._

 

 

“Will you _stop?_ ” 

She glares. 

He freezes, looks up at her innocently. “Stop what?”

“I’m trying to write my essay.” A little kinder. 

“Write away.”

Another glare. “I can’t with you sighing every two seconds and tapping your fingers and shifting your weight so the chair creaks. If you want to go be stupid with your friends, _go_. I don’t care.”

He weighs this carefully, wondering if he should be offended. “Is that an ‘I don’t care’ in a ‘You leave me here alone and I will hex you into next week’ way or in an ‘I don’t actually even care what your life is’ way?”

She blinks, surprised. “Neither.” 

“Then what?” He wishes he could read her better. Then again, he doesn’t. Solving the mystery would make him too sad. 

She’s smiling now. “James, we both know you don’t want to be here.” Gestures around the library. “It’s nice out, Sirius and the rest of them are outside, you don’t care about this homework.”

He hesitates, torn between admitting she’s right and being a good boyfriend. Her grin widens.

“I’m not like those girlfriends of yours who needed you around every second of every day.”

Still not pleased, but hesitant to take it to another level. Finally, he does, though he averts his eyes. “Doesn’t that mean you don’t feel as strongly about me, though?”

Her smile fades. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Honesty. 

She reaches out, places her hand over his tentatively. “I think I could really love you one day, isn’t that enough for now?”

“I’ll take anything.” He smiles now. 

She smiles back. “Good. Now stop trying to be Lily Evans’ boyfriend and go be James Potter.”

He considers. “Okay.” Pulls her close for a kiss that stuns her every time, makes her curse herself for sending him away. 

Barely five minutes pass before she joins the group outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Michael Buble at the top.**

 

**Thanks for reading.**


	22. Looking Ahead

_Who the hell can see forever?_

“Ten years. Go.” 

She smiles. 

“What do you mean?” He’s confused.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Hesitation. “I can’t see myself married. But then again, I can’t see myself NOT married, either.”

She blinks. “Is there any other option?”

He laughs quietly. “Death?”

She smiles again. “Some people consider marriage a synonym for that.”

He looks at her earnestly. “Not me. Not at all.” 

“Good.” 

**Iron and Wine at the top.**

**This is my last update before the book debuts and, wow, I can’t believe it’s really going to be over. I’ve grown up with these books, as all of you probably have, too, and I can’t imagine my life without waiting for another, trying to figure out what’s going to happen. If we didn’t have two more movies to look forward to, I’d be a lot more upset. I’m probably going to cry at the end, even if it’s not sad. I’m staying away from the internet, because spoiling this book would break my heart. I could tear through it in about two days, but I sort of want to savor it, you know? Since it’s the last one. See you guys when I’m finished!**

**Also, I’m not sure what will happen to the fanbase? After? I feel like initially, it’ll be fine, but a year from now? Two years? Who knows? So, I figured I’d take this time to thank each and every one of you for reading my stuff, for reviewing, and for generally sharing in the Harry Potter experience with me. It’s been a wonderful ride and whatever happens, we’ve been through it together.**

**Enjoy all the parties and such! Happy reading! <333333333333333333!**

**Lark**


	23. Loveblood

**SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS!**

**Anyone know how to make the summary thing set to a story that has already been made? The spoiler thing, I mean?**

**I REEEEEEEALLY don’t want to be responsible for ruining anything for anyone! So, please, seriously, really, truly, honestly, LISTEN UP: SPOILERS ARE IN ATTENDANCE!!!!!!!!!**

“So, what’s the deal with you and Snape?” he asks, attempting to sound merely mildly curious. 

“He lives by me,” she responds vaguely, seeming unwilling to elaborate. 

“But are you…?”

“What?” 

There are faint lines pursing at the corners of her lips, clues she’s growing annoyed. 

“Are you in love with him?” 

The question lies between them, layered with his uncertainty, his insecurity, his desire and longing. 

“Even if I was,” she says, smiling slightly, “it wouldn’t make much difference, now would it?”

“How do you figure?” he demands, his tone affronted and incredulous. 

“Severus would never be able to love this blood.” And she holds out her wrist as evidence, pointing to the thin, blue lines running underneath her skin. 

He hesitates, torn between questioning her further, for she had not truly answered, and attempting to rid her of the sorrow she seemed to feel. 

“How could anyone not love you?” 

 

 

**I refuse to believe that Lily loved Snape as anything more than a friend. Please, please, please, don’t let the fandom become flooded with Lily/Snape fics. Poor James.**


	24. Closer Now

“Hey, Evans, you wanna go to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

She’s shocked into silence, green meeting gold in puzzlement. Is he asking her out? He has not done so all year.

“What, with _you?_ ” The incredulity in her tone seems to offend him, though she realizes that had not been her intention, which is even more surprising.

“Right,” he says, smiling slightly, shrugging, “just wondering where we stood now.” 

He’s about to walk away when she speaks again, hesitant.

“I…I’m standing here.”

He blinks, looks at her. “Yes.” 

“It’s…”

He waits.

“Closer than before, you know?”

He knows. Thinks about it. Waits a little longer. 


	25. Scootch On Ever Closer

“I think I love you, is that okay?”

She sounds so tentative and afraid that he hesitates, studying her expression. 

“It will be.” 

Her brows furrow. He smiles, trying to calm her. 

“I thought you’d jump for joy. Suffocate me with kisses.”

He laughs. “Not yet.” 

She stamps a foot, resembling a younger version of herself for a moment. “What the devil’s the matter with you? I bloody _said it_! Haven’t you been waiting?”

“I feel like I’ve been waiting forever,” he admits, examining his thumb nail. 

“Then…” She’s a little lost. 

“Thinking isn’t enough.” He stares her down. “You have to _know_ it.” 

She glances down at the floor, dejection evident in her posture. 

“It’s okay,” he says, unable to handle seeing her without a smile. 

She nods slightly. Turns to walk away, pauses as he speaks once more.

“You’ll know it soon enough.” 


	26. Rocky Starts

He isn’t being himself. 

She eyes him with a sideways glance. His anxious energy is making _her_ nervous.

He remains an absurd amount of distance away, as if it is appropriate to be able to fit a full-grown dragon between them. His hands are in his pockets and she wishes, quite desperately, for one simple ruffle of his hair, one quick gesture to remind her that he’s still James. 

He’s quiet, when she’d grown used to his babbling, and allows her to lead them through Hogsmeade, seeming disinterested in what the stores have to offer. He’s not even bloody smiling. Does he even want to be here? She doesn’t think so. 

Just when she’s about to brainstorm an excuse to get away, she slips on some ice, catching her balance only to lose her wand as it falls out of her pocket and clatters onto the ground. “Oh, bollocks.”

“Here, I’ve got it,” he says, hurrying forward.

“No, I can- _ow!_ Bloody hell!”

They clonk heads comically, the first time they’ve touched all afternoon, but it’s not funny when blood begins pouring down Lily’s face.

Horrified, James whips out his own wand. “I am _so_ sorry, Merlin, Lily, _so sorry!_ ”

“It’s fine,” she says, even though it clearly isn’t, as she presses a hand against her nose. “I’ll just go see Pomfrey.”

“Here,” he says, “let me, I’ll just-”

“James, no, I’ll go to the Hospital Wing, wait, I said _no-_ ”

She wakes up on a cot in Pomfrey’s ward. She blinks, adjusts to her surroundings, tries to remember what happened. Sits up, sees James, collapsed in a chair next to her bed, deeply asleep. A hand clutching her own tightly, refusing to let go, even in slumber. 

She sighs. Smiles. 

“Hopefully dating him won’t get me killed.”

 

 

**My PSU friends have been here for the past five days, but now I’m exhausted and ready to write for days and days! =)**

 

**Thanks for readingggggggggg =)**


	27. Cowardly Lion

“You don’t see the way he looks at you, Lily.”

Lily looks up from her French toast, brows furrowed. “Who?”

Maddie, her expression serious, frowns at her. “Don’t play dumb. James.”

Lily smiles, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “He doesn’t look at me.” 

This is, of course, pathetically untrue, as the boy in question is currently staring down towards their end of the table longingly. Flushing slightly, Lily pointedly keeps her gaze focused on Maddie’s face.

Maddie chuckles quietly, also smiling. “You don’t see him looking, because you try to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“I do _not-”_

“But the thing is, Lily, if you did take a moment to acknowledge him once in a while, you’d see you’re wrong about him.”

Maddie pauses, taking in Lily’s downcast eyes and red cheeks.

“And, _geez_ , Lily, my parents don’t even look at each other the way James looks at you.”

There is another pause, filled by the scratching of Lily’s fork against the bottom of her plate. 

“And if I were to hazard a guess, I’d assume that if you were ever brave enough to look him in the eye, your expressions would be mirror images. And I’m worried for you, Lily, because I don’t think it’s a certainty that anyone else will ever look at you like that.”

“You don’t what you’re talking about, Maddie,” Lily says quietly, and the subject is closed. 

But a few minutes later, she allows her gaze to drift down the table, to meet those bloody golden eyes that terrify her. 

They stare at each other for a long moment.

She lifts her chin. He sets his jaw. 


	28. Imperiusly Yours, Lily

            I have been disinclined for a very long time to agree with the saying that claims one’s body is one’s greatest instrument, albeit weapon or tool.

            First of all, this saying neglects mentioning the brain, which I feel is clearly the most powerful instrument of all. It also ignores the heart, the soul, the kindness of a human being. There are so many things wrong with this adage, not the least of which is my lack of control of my body.

            No, no, I’m not talking about the Imperius Curse or anything. Although, the way I act sometimes is somewhat similar. You see, my body answers to James Potter whenever he’s near, and he knows it. 

            I can’t control goose bumps and I can’t control trembles. I possess no ability to maintain a passive face, instead appearing to _choose_ to grin like a moron whenever he’s around. 

            I do not choose to feel this way. 

            I do not make the decision to daydream about what our house will look like, what we will name our children, how often we’ll have, err, romantic nights. I swear on my life that I am incapable of tearing my attention away from breaking down the exact recipe for the scent he creates: sweat, mingled with grass, and fresh air, and imported cologne, and some days, inexplicably, cinnamon. 

            I cannot be in the same room with him for very long, for fear I will blurt out how I feel. Again, I do not really feel this way! It is simply the way my body reacts to his presence. 

            So, uh, if you’re listening? Anyone? Do you think you could Imperius me and tell me that _under no circumstances am I to fancy, or act like I fancy, James Potter_? Thanks ever so much! 


	29. Rounding Out

_let’s_ _see how far we’ve come_

He sneezes and she doesn’t say anything. 

As an experiment, he tosses his quill across the room. She doesn’t even look up. 

“Oops,” he says, pseudo-cheerily, and retrieves it, scraping his chair across the floor as he rises and seats himself again. 

Still, nothing. 

“How many nights have you given us for next week?” 

She starts, glancing up at him as if noticing him for the first time, though their weekly meeting began a half hour ago. 

“Uh…three, you have Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“We’re not doing our rounds together?”

“Not next week.”

“I see.” 

She hesitates, shooting a look down at her papers as if wishing they could call her name, pull her from this conversation.

“I thought you’d like to be paired with that sixth year Gryffindor prefect.”

“Abigail?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I like doing rounds with you.” 

She hesitates again, tugging at her ponytail. 

“Don’t you…didn’t you ask Abigail out?”

He looks startled, raising a brow. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly the reason for her coldness seems all too clear. He smiles. Chuckles slightly. 

She narrows her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Can I see the schedule?”

He yanks it from under her nose before she can respond, looks it over, and then scribbles some things out. 

“There, perfect. See ya Monday.” 

He winks, gathers his stuff up, and strides confidently away. 

He doesn’t need to look back to know she’s staring after him. 

**Matchbox Twenty at the top.**

**Review me.**


	30. The Waiting Game

James Potter had slyly wormed his way into her life.

She thinks about it on a brisk morning in between classes, as he comes up behind her to sling an arm about her shoulders. She wonders when they had passed the boundary into acceptable physical contact, unable to recall the first time their arms had brushed, their seating arrangements had coincided. 

James Potter was, though it pained her to admit it, one of her favorite people. They’d grown ridiculously close over the past months, she confided a significant amount of personal information in him, spent an absurd amount of time in his presence, Head Duties excluded. It startles her to realize he is no longer an annoyance, that she _enjoys_ being around him. 

She glances up at him, squirming closer. His arm tightens instinctively, he smiles down at her. She wonders when that smile grew less flirtatious, more innocently friendly. She blinks, then struggles to remember when that began to bother her. Perhaps it always did. 

James had given her what she’d said she wanted: a harassment-free life. Only, of course, she now desired more. Perhaps she always had. 

She eyes him, speculating. Maybe all she has to do ask. Then again, maybe it’s far too late. Their timing has always been a little off. 

“Someday,” she murmurs finally, and when he arches a brow quizzically, she just smiles, shifting out of his grasp and maneuvering through the crowd on her own. 

_Someday soon_ , she allowed herself to hope.

 

**Thanks for reading.**

**I’m slowing down on the updates a little, because I’ve been working really hard on my founders fic, Hogwarts, A History. Check it out if you have time.**

**lark**


	31. Hole, Collapsing

She stares down at her plate, swishing the food around aimlessly, scraping her fork against the surface and creating a cringe-worthy screech that serves to remind her that yes, she is still here, now, alive. 

She does not notice the looks she receives. Especially the golden glance from the other side of the table, the eyes she has grown increasingly adept at ignoring. 

After a moment of contemplation that is much too intense for the relatively simple decision in front of her, she stabs at a piece of chicken, shoves it into her mouth. She can only survive feeling empty in so many ways. This is not one of them. Then again, neither is the other. 

She looks up, across the Hall. Green meets black, both startled. She stares at Severus, hesitates, offers a half-smile, one side of her mouth curling at the corner. 

He sneers, his lip practically doing acrobatic flips in distaste, and she gasps, the malice in his eyes seeming to freeze the blood in her veins. She tries to remember if his gaze had always been so unbearably cold, so past the point of ever thawing. What feels like ice forms in her eyes and she stares down at her plate again, attempting to figure out why she had been foolish enough to think her former best friend could fill the void within her. 

Before the falling out, he’d been everything she needed. Now she was fairly certain he would take the hole within her if he could and dig deeper still, past her gut, her spine, her soul, until she could not stand it and collapsed in on herself, ceasing to be. 

That does not sound so bad to her.

She puts her fork down. Swallows the chicken she spent far too long chewing. Wipes her mouth with a napkin as something to do. 

She takes a deep breath, inhaling loudly, trying to _feel_ the air enter and expand her lungs. She wonders if she should be worried that it hurts to feel something, anything. 

She tries desperately, hopelessly, to not enjoy how hollow she had become, to not want to throw away more and more of herself, leaving nothing but eerie emptiness. 

She wishes, quite plainly, that she could dig through herself and back again.  

 

 

**Hmm. This piece took a while. I know some people have been waiting, for which I apologize. I’m not sure how I feel about it. When I first finished, I felt it was the strongest out of the Hole series. After rereading it a bunch of times and proofing, now I feel like it’s pretty weak.**

**Let me know what _you_ think,**

**lark**


	32. Hole, Brimming

_I’m not angry, it’s never been enough_

_It gets inside and it tears you up_

_I’m not angry, it’s dragging me under_

It happens slowly, and yet quickly, so achingly Blast-Ended Shrewt-like that he cannot build up a resistance. 

He finds himself filled with anger, practically brimming with it. It’s threatening to spill over, to flood the castle with its ferocity. He knows it isn’t healthy. 

Sitting in the locker room, having just been ejected from the game for aiming at the Keeper’s head instead of the goal hoops, he runs his hands over his face. He supposes the problem might spring from the fact that it was his own Keeper the Quaffle had stunned, not the opposing team’s. 

He takes a few deep breaths, trying to settle. It works, but barely. There is a constant urge within him to shatter his knuckles against the nearest wall, to appease the raging tide of fury with pain. It requires a vast amount of restraint to ignore that pull. 

He’s always thought of himself as a relatively happy, good-natured person. Only now, Lily Evans has sucked him dry of that, leaving him hollow and empty and with nothing to fill himself with but anger that replicates and divides and multiplies and conquers all. He is quite full of emotion, in stark contrast to existing as a simple shell, but it is the kind of emotion that makes him want to puke and vomit and heave all of it up so that it can’t infect him any longer. Because that’s what it is: a disease, designed to eat him up inside until it’s worse than emptiness. 

He throws his Quidditch robes back into his locker, slams the door shut. Storms back to the castle. Runs into her, predictably, on his way into the Common Room.

They stare at each other, eyes wide, uncomprehending, each equally perplexed at the situation, as if neither had ever anticipated an awkward moment in which they might run into each other, too busy pretending the other did not exist. 

“D-did we win, then?” she asks finally, blinking her hair out of her eyes, not seeming to care enough to raise a hand to move the offending strand across her face. 

He stares, fists clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Nice of you to cheer us on.” 

She hesitates, averting her eyes. It hurts to look at her, yet he cannot tear his glance away. 

“I had a lot of homework to do.”

He laughs, though nothing is even remotely humorous, and it tastes bitter and furious in his mouth. 

“At least you care about _something_.” 

And he brushes past her to head up the stairs, more roughly than he ever could have imagined he’d be with her, and struggles to understand why he feels a small burst of satisfaction at the tears that begin to form in her eyes. 

He knows he should be ashamed that hurting Lily helps him heal. 

 

 

**Matchbox Twenty at the top.**

**I don’t think people are going to like this one very much. Please stay open-minded about it. James _is_ human and we can be very immature and vindictive at times. And, he’s hurting a lot. I think I wrote this one so that the reader kinda has to be on his side, but I understand why some people might hate the way he’s acting. **

**Thank you for reading, as always.**

 


	33. Slip Ups

He’s glaring at her. 

She can feel his eyes, piercing into the side of her face. She stares stubbornly down at the parchment in front of her, though she can’t quite focus on the professor’s words.

They have not spoken in five days. Their weekly Heads meeting is approaching and she is unsure who is going to break the silence first. She would not raise a brow in surprise if they managed to do the schedules and other assignments without even acknowledging each other. 

Fed up, she turns and glares back, tempted to do something childish. It’s getting ridiculous, but she isn’t going to be the bigger person.

She knows they’ll laugh about this, just as soon as they remember to like each other again. Sirius glances between them, muffling a laugh with his hand. James carefully places an elbow in between his best friend’s ribs and he shuts up. 

Then he sticks out his tongue, as if on the same mind wavelength as her. Infuriated, she crumples up her parchment and lobs it in his direction, her mouth opening in shock as it veers oddly, awkwardly, _magically_ off course and hits, instead, the professor. 

There is a silence, broken by the amused, aggravating voice of James Potter. 

“Good thing you’re not on the Quidditch team, Lils, you have _awful_ aim.”

The class disrupts into laughter and when the two of them are scrubbing pots later in detention, furiously mute, he finally glances over.

“Still hate me?”

“Yes,” she mutters. 

He smiles, putting his brush down. “I don’t think you do.”

She grumbles nonsense, huffing out a loud breath. He scooches closer, she eyes him warily. 

“I think you love me and you even love fighting with me.”

She laughs, but nervously. “I think you’re delusional.”

“Oh, come on,” he murmurs, and he grabs her hand, his smile deepening when she doesn’t yank it back. “It’s been kind of fun, hasn’t it?”

It has, she can’t lie. So she remains silent, still, stubborn. 

He leans ever closer, smooching obnoxiously, loudly on her cheek. “And _now_ , we know we can fight without killing each other, right?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to strengthen her resolve. His lips move down to her neck and she loses her will completely. 

“Right,” she whispers.

“So we can argue and not have to worry…”

“Uh-huh…”

“And then, there’s always this making up business, hmm?”

“What were we so angry about?” she asks, breathlessly, inches from his face. 

“Haven’t a clue,” he says cheerfully, twirling a piece of her hair around his fingers. 

She blinks, glancing over his shoulder. “McGonagall’s coming back.”

“I don’t care,” he says, and kisses her. 

Neither complains about the ensuing week of detentions they earn. 


	34. Kitchen Sink

**No one has ever asked, which I find surprising, what the significance of the title is. Well, you haven’t asked, but I will tell you, anyway. Quite honestly, I picked one of the most random things I could think of, I wanted a unique title, something that would, not stand out exactly, but intrigue people. (The original title was ‘Plumber’s Crack’) (I’m totally kidding, it was ‘Sock Drawer’)**

**So I thought up this chapter before I started writing anything, have had it written for a very long time now, and I planned for it to be the final piece, a summation of all I was trying to do. Only now, I don’t really see an end anytime soon: I haven’t found the bottom of ‘Hole’ and I think up new situations more than once a day. I have about 75 drabbles written, most of which will never be posted. (Last week, I posted three in a bing, bang, boom move, because I finally decided they were good enough) And, on another note, I don’t think it’s possible to sum up what I’ve done. I’ve created too many possibilities, too many inconsistencies, for one piece to bring them all together. It’s a minor flaw in my plan, to which I simply thumb my nose and say, ‘fine, here we are.’**

**So, enjoy what was meant to be the conclusion, what inspired all 33 chapters I’ve posted so far. And, on a final note, I know that it’s very melodramatic and a little over the top. I sort of meant for it to be that, and also sort of regret it.**

 

“You,” he says one day, “are my kitchen sink.”

“And you,” she replies, distractedly, her eyes skimming the Prophet, “are the hole in my pocket.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. But I think I’m offended.”

She eyes him, glancing up, one eyebrow raised. “I get the feeling you’ve been thinking too much again.” 

“You know you want to ask me.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” She turns away, but she’s smiling. They both know the conversation is going to happen. 

He sniffs, feigning hurt. 

“Oh, go on, then. How am I a sink?”

“Not just _any_ sink. _My_ kitchen sink.” 

“Right, that.”

He’s silent for so long that she begins to lose interest. She sighs loudly, pointedly. He gazes at her, almost in wonderment. She sucks in her breath, serious now, stunned by the emotion in his eyes. “James?”

He ignores this, continuing to study her. She reaches for him, entwines her fingers through his, feeling better when she can hold onto him. 

“Have you ever seen a kitchen without a sink?”

Contemplates. “No.”

“I mean, you’d have to be running outside to the well, or into the bathroom, just to wash your hands or your dishes or your fruit. And what if there was a fire?”

She blinks. “Now there’s a fire?”

“In the kitchen, Lily. What if you were making your-” he pauses to gulp “-delicious dinner and you burnt it and flames began spitting from the stove?”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m a wonderful cook.”

“I know. But what if?”

“Uhh..Aguamenti?” 

He glares. “You are awful at this game.” 

“Okay, okay. If there was a fire…and there was no sink….I guess we’d have a big problem.”

“Right!” 

She waits, patiently. 

“Without you, Lily, my life would be chaos.”

She laughs. “Are you saying it isn’t now?” 

He sighs. “You can’t just play along, can you?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, holds her. They remain quiet for a moment.

“I don’t think you understand,” he says softly, stroking her hair. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t be _me_ without you. I’d be missing something. I’d be a bedroom, masquerading as a kitchen. I’d be…wrong. I’m wrong if you’re not with me.”

“I do get it,” she replies, breathing deeply. 

“What do you get?”

“You’re my sink and my faucets and my drain and my bloody pipes and plumbing and all the way down to the _sewer_. You don’t stop, but you’re you, and we…we’ve got a place to wash the dishes, alright?”

“You can wash my dishes,” he quips quickly, grinning. 

“I will,” she says quietly, her tone full of meaning, his amused grin fading to a fond smile. 

“Of course you will. No one else will touch them.”

“This is a silly conversation.”

“We’ve had far sillier, I assure you.”

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“I really don’t think having a sink in the kitchen is going to be enough to keep you from burning the house down.”

“Darling, we’ve talked about this. Save the wit for times when I’m not considering proposing.” 

Shocked silence.

“Propose?”

Clearly, she thinks, they have _not_ talked about this.

“You’ve just offered to wash my dishes, don’t tell me you’re backing out.” 

“N-no.”

“Well, what do you say, then?”

It’s so unromantic that she hesitates, struck by how suddenly the mood has changed. She leans back to study him, perplexed, and notices the sheer panic in his eyes. Honestly. Does he really not know her answer? 

She smiles. Kisses him. Draws the moment out longer, knows she’ll want to have every detail memorized later. 

“It’s not just the kitchen that needs the sink, you know.”

“I know.” He waits.

She eyes him, teasing. “You couldn’t have picked a better metaphor? Like…a chandelier? You could have said there’s no light without me.”

“I wouldn’t need light without you.” 

She laughs. Is silent for another long moment. Turns to him finally, leans against him, tries not to cry.

“If you’re a kitchen, I’m your sink.” 


	35. No, I Won't Die Alone

“Severus wants to see me.” She speaks softly, as if she hopes he won’t hear her.

She forgets how attuned his ears are to her voice. His head whips around and he stares at her, undisguised shock and dismay in his expression.

“You’re not serious.”

“ _Clearly_.”

He rolls his eyes and her smile fades. 

“You’re not actually considering it?”

“No, I’m not.” 

He lets out a loud breath, not bothering to conceal his relief. “Good. For once you’re thinking rationally.”

“I’m not considering it, because I’ve decided already. I’m going to meet him in Diagon Alley on Sunday.” Wary, now. Studies her fingernails intently. 

Open-mouthed horror. “Lily, honey, you do realize we’re talking about Severus Snape, right? _Snivelly?_ The _Death Eater?_ ” 

She hesitates, wavering. “Yes.”

He blinks. “Alright, just making sure.” 

She stares when he doesn’t say anything else. “That’s it? You’re not going to stop me?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Like I could.”

A faint line creases between her brows. “But…”

He smiles knowingly. “Is that what made your decision so easy? Thinking I wouldn’t allow it to happen anyway?”

She’s silent, lips pursing. Stubbornly. “Yes.”

“I won’t stop you.” He strokes her cheek. “Not if you really want to see him, which I can tell you do.”

“But…why not? You’re not…jealous? Or scared for me?”

“Of course I’m jealous as hell that you want to see another guy. And terrified out of my mind. But I’m not going to keep you from living, or from doing things you want to do.”

“It’s not like that,” she says, wrapping her fingers around his and squeezing tightly. “About seeing another guy, I mean. You know you have nothing to worry about, right?”

He gazes down at her, and the sadness in his eyes confuses her. “There will always be something to worry about with him, I think. You loved him once.”

She frowns. “Yes, I did.” 

“I’ll always be jealous of the role he played in your life. The way he helped mold you into the wonderful person I’m so in love with. But at the same time, I’m grateful. And I can’t blame him for wanting to see you. You’re a tough girl to get over. I should know. I never would have.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you never did.”

“Me too.” 

She leans against him, closes her eyes. Thinks. “You’ll be there under the Cloak, right?”

He laughs. “You know me too well.” 

Opens her eyes to look up at him. “Thank you, James.” 

“No worries.”

Somehow, calm words from James have the power to dislodge the pit in her stomach, reform it from anxiety to simple anticipation. 

Knowing he’d be there, beside her, just like he always had been, is all she needs.

 

**Title is from an Ingrid Michaelson song.**


	36. Different PAths for the Same Destination

She’s desperate, clinging to him, latching onto his arm so he can’t move away. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

She cringes at the chill in his tone. “Stay, here.”

“I can’t. Not anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “Just not tonight?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” He begins to pluck her fingers off of him, his eyes turning towards the door. 

Flustered, anxious, she lets him go, stands, tears forming. “You’re doing this just because I can’t say it back yet?”

He hesitates, hand on the doorknob. “Yes and no.” 

Her forehead creases, she stamps a foot. “That isn’t _fair_ , James! I can’t live without you. I _need_ you. Why isn’t that enough?”

He smiles, but there’s nothing happy in his expression. He’s out the door, his words floating back to her. 

“Because you can’t see that it means the same thing.”

 

 

**Mmm. This might be my last post for a while. I leave to go back to Penn State on the 23rd, and I have a lot of plans for the days remaining before then, leaving not a lot of time for writing, plus I have to get all settled in to my APARTMENTTTTTT!!!!!! Gheeee!  SO EFFIN’ PUMPED!!! So yeah, the way I’m thinking now, I might not post for a month or so. Unless I get a bunch of emails that are reviews telling me you miss me! =P**

**Just kidding. I probably won’t be able to stay away for that long. Womp.**

**Enjoy the rest of your summers! Friend me on facebook! I’m in that UR group.**

**love, lark**


	37. Thoughts Go Empty-Handed

“One kiss.”

“You’re mental.”

He laughs. “Irrelevant.”

She sighs. Looks back at him, slows her steps, allows him to catch up. 

“C’mon, one kiss won’t kill you.”

“You don’t know that,” she grumbles. 

He reaches out, grabs her hand. She hesitates before pulling away. “Why are you fighting this?”

“Why are you pushing it?” 

“Because I know one kiss would blow your mind so completely that you’d want another one and another and another….”

She can’t help it. Laughs. “You’re that good?”

“I like to think so…but it would also help that you want me so badly.”

She shakes her head, but the smile’s set in place. “ _Mental_.”

He steps closer. She blinks, lifts her chin, refuses to back up. 

Their eyes lock, an informal type of communication that speaks volumes louder than any pleading or protesting they could do. She licks her lips, he smirks, leans closer. Her eyes flutter shut of their own accord and he takes a deep breath, studying her willing expression, centimeters away from her. He finds it strange, at this moment, so close to her, to kissing her, to finally bringing the rocky road behind them to a most pleasant end, that all he can think of is that he misses her serene gaze. Misses her bright eyes, the tiny flecks of lighter green intertwined with the deeper emerald, the honesty he finds there, the fondness that has been slowly growing. He brushes a thumb across her cheekbone and smiles. Turns, begins to walk away. 

“Told you that you wanted me.” 

 

 

**Oh, you darlings knew I couldn't stay away. Actually, thank the guys I work with for this chapter, one of them who is a little in love with me, upon learning that it was my last day tomorrow, said something along the lines of James's words to me. Hahahahah. I was not as willing as Lily, however.**

**Not sure when I'll post again. I got used to updating Kitchen Sink almost every day, so it's actually been kinda weird for me to not be logging on here.**

**Byeeeee!**


	38. Something To Hold Onto

**Oh, I surriously can’t stay away. I think this is how it’s gonna be for a while, I’ll just post every so often, depending on how I feel, and depending on what’s going on, but for a pretty long time it’s not going to be like how it was this summer, with me updating almost every day. I _have_ been writing, but I don’t think any of it will be posted. I don’t deal well with change, even when it’s good change, it tends to spark a lot of emotion in me, and that’s when I feel most inspired to write. Yawn. Okay. I’ll stop boring you all now =)**

“Give me your hand,” he requests, reaching for it with his own. She gives. Quirks a brow. 

He smiles, holding her tiny fingers in his larger grasp. He runs a finger gently down the center of her palm, provoking a shiver. “This is a river.”

She blinks, curious, but skeptical. Remains silent, allows him to continue. 

“And _here_ ,” he says, tapping lightly on the pad of the knuckle on her index finger, “is a rabbit.”

Her eyebrow darts even further up her forehead. “A rabbit?”

“A bunny,” he agrees, his smile deepening. He squeezes her hand, as if in reassurance. “Now, how does the bunny cross the river?”

“He swims.”

He grins. “Nah, the water’s too rough.”

Ah, so it’s a game. Intrigued, she studies her hand, the line he’s gone back to tracing. “Jumps?”

He shakes his head. “Too wide.” 

She hesitates, thinking. “He builds a bridge and walks across.”

“Nothing around for him to build with.”

She purses her lips, stumped for a moment. “He casts a spell.”

He scoffs, smirking. “Lily, you’re being silly. Rabbits don’t have wands.”

“Oh, _I’m_ being silly?”

He nods, chuckling. 

“Okay,” she muses, considering, “how about he….alright, I give up. How does he get across?”

He hesitates, looking away briefly. He lets go of her hand, only to lace his fingers through hers tentatively, as if worried she will pull away. She doesn’t.  

“James?” she asks, uncertainly. “The rabbit?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea how that bloody rabbit gets across the river,” he says, sounding amused. 

Nervous now, she bites at her lower lip, waiting. He sighs, looks down at their entwined hands, and a smile instantly appears, stretching his lips seemingly up to his eyes. His gaze brightens considerably when it meets her own and, after a moment, he winks, shrugs, tries not to appear so pathetic.

“Honestly, I just wanted to hold your hand.” 


	39. The Terribly Constructed Facade

“But why her? Why my best friend?”

She’s following him, her eyes squinting with anger and unshed tears. 

“What business is it of yours?”

He pauses to glance at her, considers her destroyed expression. 

“She’s my best friend! Of course it’s my business!”

“See, I thought it might be between me and her, you know?”

Her gaze narrows the slightest bit, fury emanating. “Out of all the girls at Hogwarts, James, why my best friend?”

He raises a brow, eyes piercing into hers. 

“What’s _really_ bothering you: the fact that it’s your best friend or the fact that it isn’t you?”

 

**At school again. Loving it. Loving my apartment. Gahh. Not much time to write. Sad. Will do my best.**

**< 3,**

**lark**


	40. Oasis

**I miss updating regularly. I haven’t had inspiration, though. Today, however, during my Criminology class, a part of this chapter got in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone til I wrote it down and then I got back to the apartment, I typed this little baby up. Hopefully it’s a sign of my muse returning. =) Leave some love!**

 

He sees a flash of glowing embers and his head whips around, eyes searching in vain. For a moment, he had thought she was there, across the street, strolling along down the sidewalk, that familiar crimson silk flowing around her shoulders like a beacon, the particular tint of red that’s been permanently burned into his mind that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else. His heart had paused, only to resume a slightly more erratic rhythm, his mouth had opened to bellow her name, and his eyes had squinted hopefully. 

It is simply a russet-colored hat, not even slightly related to the perfection that is Lily’s hair, and yet its subtle similarity is enough to make him stop, turn, stare. He runs a hand over his face, collects himself, keeps moving. It has happened often enough that it no longer devastates his day. 

He is fully aware of how pathetic it is for him, three months past graduation, to still imagine her on every street corner he passes, in every grocery aisle he walks down, in every room he walks into, everywhere. The possibility that his sanity is spiraling out of control does not escape him, but it doesn’t bother him, either. 

If he has to spend the rest of his life in the desert, he’d rather see the mirage than nothing at all. 


	41. Blurry Around the Edges

He’s moving over her, his hands are everywhere. Somehow, her shirt and pants have come off, her underwear is sliding down to her knees, her bra is unsnapped. He’s panting and her mind is traveling, but that sound is still in her head. It’s a rapid intake and exhale and she slowly begins to match her breaths with his. 

Then he’s suddenly pulling away, his expression a mixture of horror and concern, and she realizes, even as she registers she should be reaching for him instead of cringing in on herself, that it’s because she’s crying. Gasping, heart-wrenching sobs that shake her entire body, send tears racing down her cheeks. 

He’s whispering comfort, but afraid to touch her, and that’s good, she couldn’t handle it. Looking up at him, she can’t see him through the tears, and that’s good, too. It's easier to not to be touched, to not see, to be able to pretend.

He isn’t James, he never will be, no one ever could be, and that will never be okay. 


	42. Torture

She’s waiting in the Common Room, scowling. 

“What’s this about?”

She waves a sheet of paper in his face, points at the seemingly careless words. 

He pretends to squint, brows furrowing. “Oh! Right. I left you a note about us having to patrol this weekend.”

“But we did the last Hogsmeade weekend.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t give the prefects enough notice, so they had plans.”

“I don’t care if they have plans! This is their job.”

“Well, I could take care of it myself, if you already have plans, too.” 

“No, I don’t, I mean…I wanted…oh, forget it.” Her cheeks redden, she glances down at her feet. 

“So, Saturday then?” He grins, flashing white, finding himself unable, even now, when she is practically throwing a tirade over the thought of spending time with him, to control his excitement. 

She nods, then sighs, dejectedly. “This isn’t fair, you know.”

He considers her expression, contemplates his situation: the amount of time he’s forced to spend in her presence, the tiny smiles he can’t conceal when he’s around her, the way his skin burns when it accidentally brushes hers, the constant hold she has on his thoughts, his ever desperate and always pathetic attempt to look at her as just a friend. The perpetual punishment the Head Boy position is for him makes this one Saturday seem like a gentle slap on her perfect little wrist. 

He raises an eyebrow as he turns away, shrugging his shoulders at her obvious irritation. 

“Life doesn’t care about fair.”

 


	43. Hole, Weakening

_Our love was comfortable_

The funny thing about anger is that it fades. It cools, it eases, the fire inevitably flickers out. To be perpetually furious is to have constant heat, heat that somehow, impossibly refuses to die. All waves must eventually crash. 

He washes ashore in a tangle. Wakes up, stretches, rubs his eyes, yawns, forgives her. Realizes that there’s probably nothing she could do that he would be unable to live with. He considers how pathetic that is. Decides he’s past caring.  

He smiles at himself in the mirror for the first time since the confession. It is a nice feeling, the sudden calm within him, no tremors in his gut, no painful squeeze in his chest. Somehow, life seems bright. 

He smiles all the way down to breakfast, drawing odd looks from his friends, who had grown used to his gloom. 

Sirius lifts a shoulder in response to Peter’s question. “I think he got laid.” 

He ignores them. Barely even notices that they’re talking. 

She glances down the table at him with her signature anxious and hopeful look. He meets her gaze, takes a deep breath. The water swirls around his ankles, threatening. He smiles. Winks, even. 

He catches up with her before class. Her smile is tentative, but pleading. 

“We’ll be fine, Lily,” he says, squeezing her shoulder gently. “Tides have to change.”

It’s a step in the right direction. But the sand’s still wet beneath his feet.

**I’m not sure if the John Mayer lyrics really go with the piece, but I’ve been waiting to use ‘Comfortable’ for so long. So, oh well!**

**I was in a chat with some UR people tonight for a few minutes and it inspired me to write! Hi, to whoever else was in it!**

**COLLEGE WORK IS AWFUL. I miss writing. But I’m loving life. So I guess it’s a trade off.**

**Love you guyssss, review please!**

**lark**


	44. Sunburn Smile

“It’s pouring out,” she says. Blinks, frowns slightly. Watches the lines stream down the glass. 

His eyes never stray from her face. “Looks sunny to me.” 

Perplexed, she glances over to meet his gaze. A smile pulls at the corners of her lips and he nods. Strokes her cheek gently. 

“Not a cloud in the sky.” 


	45. Jump Start

James Potter is a boy who is a friend. 

James Potter is a boy who is wondering if he can ask your best friend to the upcoming ball. 

James Potter is a boy who has no idea. 

James Potter is slowly becoming _that boy_ , you know, the one that cajoles you to eat your heart out, to wear it on your sleeve, to trip and tumble top over bottom. 

James Potter convinces you, though he has no idea that he does so, to stare out the window for hours on end, watching the patterns of the rain stream down the glass, daring to dream. 

You sigh and you hate yourself and you turn to him and you force a smile and you say, the pain in your throat not enough to stop you from torturing yourself, “I’m sure she’d love to go with you.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

You shrug, roll your eyes, nod half-heartedly. 

He reaches out, squeezes your shoulder. “You’re really awful at this, you know.”

You blink, the question dying on your lips at the ferocity of his gaze. _At what?_

He smiles. “I’ll meet you at 8 in the Common Room?” 

That throb in your throat grows to an unbearable level and you can only nod, staring, disbelieving, realizing that James Potter is a boy who will never fail to surprise you. 

 

**I'm almost done with the next chapter of Blink, I swear! But I just had exams, so I've been studying my life away. But also...I've been wondering for a while if anyone is interested in beta reading my stuff? I think there's a place on this site about that, but I'm typing this up between classes so I don't have time to look right now, so...just lemme know in a review or something, I guess. Thanks!**

**love, larky**


	46. Grow Together

She’s sitting by the lake, leaning against a tree, a book open on her lap but her head back and her eyes closed, a gentle breeze ruffling across her clothes, her hair. 

He approaches carefully, trying not to startle her. 

“Hi, James,” she says, eyes still closed. 

“How’d you know it was me?” he asks, settling down beside her. She sits up, rolls her eyes at him. 

“I could smell you.” 

“I don’t smell,” he complains, mock-indignantly, and then she glances over, notices what he’s carrying. 

“What’s that?” 

He hesitates, as if having second thoughts, then places it in front of her. She studies the pot, the vacant dirt, glances back up at him quizzically. 

“Okay, I don’t get it.” 

“I know you hate it when people get you lilies.”

She nods.

“But I thought it would be different if we could watch these grow together.”

She stares, mouth open, at his slightly red cheeks, his eyes focused so pointedly on what’s between them. 

She blinks. Thinks. Realizes it’s not just the seeds that are growing. 

 

**Stressing so badly about finding an internship for next summer =( leave something nice**


	47. Puddles

She avoids the puddles. 

Skips agilely along, shoes skimming the edges of the glimmering pools, careful not to upset or startle them. 

It isn’t her own face she sees in them, not her long hair, her small nose, her wide eyes. It’s James, his glasses, his messy hair, his grin. 

As much as she’d like to send his face splattering into a thousand different purposeful directions, tinier puddles that morph to once again bear his image, she finds she can’t. 

No matter how badly he breaks her down, she cannot do the same to him. 

 

**Boys can suck it.**


	48. Fireplace Flickering

**a long december and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better the last.**

 

 

She feels it like one feels a sunburn: constant, roaring protests along her skin every time she moves. She’s even red, and hot, yet freezing, an anger that thrives deep down in her bones. 

Eyes narrow, squint, focus. Life is blurring before her, as if even her sight is under siege. 

“I hate winter,” she mutters, scowling down at her hands. _Who gets sunburned in December?_

She feels him, like one feels a sunburn: caution, a reminder, pain. She hesitates, then melts into his embrace, pushing away the urge to wince. 

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers, and she nods, blinks, feels it begin to recede. 

She had known passion was a flame, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt. 

 

**Happy holidays, everybody**


	49. Fate Intervenes

 

**Fate Intervenes**

 

It's a moment you keep coming back to in your mind, when his eyes met yours as he was rushing past you and recognition sparked, his entire face lighting up, the corners of his mouth curving towards the ceiling. You smiled back and his hand rested briefly on your bare shoulder, thank god you hadn't worn sleeves, as he kept moving. And what do you do now, with that feeling, after that night, that sensation that without his hand there, your shoulder was naked, exposed, alone. What do you do with the fear that if you never see him again, it's how your skin will always feel?

 

You stared down at your beer, at the foam threatening to overflow the bottle, and took another swig, trying to settle the butterflies that were throwing tantrums in your stomach. Every single molecule in your body was straining to be free, to fly across the room to him. From that first moment when you met him, when he smiled and introduced himself, his eyes warm and friendly at first then slightly puzzled as you stared deeper at each other, your body had ceased to belong to you.

 

It happens that way sometimes, you know. People fall in love in different ways. That whole love at first sight thing, yeah, it might be a little far-fetched. But certainly there is attraction at first sight, a moment when you both realize that there’s something there, something in his hazel eyes that cause your heart to beat a little faster, something about the nonchalance in his walk that makes you unconsciously follow his progress around the bar, something that you can’t deny that causes him to wink every time your eyes meet, a grin sliding across his face, something you can’t quite fight off that allows an irrational thought to stray across your mind: _I need to know him._

 

No man, no man who has ever flirted with you, dated you, crawled passionately on top of you, fell asleep beside you with his arm across your body, has not once, not ever, looked at you the way this man you’ve barely spoken to has looked at you.

 

When you leave the bar that night, your shoulder still tingling from where he touched it, you try not to worry that no one else will ever look at you that way.

 

 

**Lily and James, yes, but I wrote it on something that happened last week when I was in Mexico.........sigh. What DO you do when you know the person you're destined for you might never see again?**

 

 


	50. Safety First

“Just don’t get in too deep.”

You wave the concerned words away with a distracted hand. Sure, this guy you’ve been seeing lately has a bit of a reputation, but you’re not worried. You have no intentions of getting hurt. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Well…I’m still going to make sure he knows if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his wand.” 

You blink, pondering the words, though even now the image of messy hair and glasses lingers in the back of your mind, a boy you talked to for merely five minutes a month ago and now can’t erase from your thoughts, despite having a boyfriend who dotes on you.

You contemplate the severity of never seeing someone again, of holding onto a memory for the rest of your life. You turn to your friend and smile reassuringly. 

“He can’t break what he hasn’t been given.” 

 

 

**Thanks for all the support about returning to the community. I have a lot more time now that I'm done with school and settled in at home after vaykay. I definitely write better when I'm having trouble keeping control of my emotions, too, so expect a bunch of updates this week while I sort through them this week. Thanks again, I love all of you who reviewed or read. :)**


	51. The Corners of the Mind

He’s learned what it means to always have her on his mind. 

It isn’t a pressing, urgent need to call her or be with her, a desire to have her there next to him so that their hips can touch or his arm can slide around her shoulders or the scent of her shampoo can drift past his nostrils. It isn’t the sudden epiphany that his ears have been so melancholy because they’ve been missing the sound of her voice. 

It’s the thought of her. It’s him wondering what she’s up to, if she’s happy. It’s her smile appearing in his mind and it’s the subsequent quickening of his heartbeat. It’s every shade of green he sees morphing into the exact hue of her eyes. It’s the way he thinks he sees her, everywhere, knowing the entire time that she’s miles away. 

It’s the knowledge that even when they’re far apart, she’s still right here with him. 


	52. It's All In The Penmanship

 

**Dear Lily,**

This is the first love letter I have ever written.

I'm sorry. That was a horrible opening line. But I'm afraid doing this in person has yielded no results and this is my final attempt. I've asked you out, I've offered to help you with your homework, I've been as flexible as possible with Head Duties, I've complimented you on everything from your eyes to your shoes to your choice of words, I've exuded the famous Potter charm, I've played hard to get, I've tried going through your friends, I've bribed professors into pairing us together in class, I've not creepily at all found out when you were at the library and just 'happened' upon you (come on, we both know you weren't fooled any of those dozen or so times), and I've embarrassed myself handily by professing my profound devotion to you in front of large crowds. Nothing, not one plan, scheme, or tactic has worked.

Some men, lesser men than I of course, might think you simply wished for me to leave you alone. That is the logical thought process, I suppose. And well, I'm almost there. I would be there, if it weren't for the few times I've caught you watching me, thinking I was oblivious. If it weren't for the time I was nearly fouled off my broomstick and Sirius saw you leap to your feet, wand drawn, I'd accept your hope that one day my ego breaks my fall in a Quidditch match. If it weren't for the time you gave Elizabeth Snyder the cold shoulder after she gave me a Valentine's Day singing telegram, I'd believe your insistent claim that you don't care who I spend my time with as long as it isn't you. If it weren't for those few days where you wanderered around, looking sort of lost and forlorn, when I was trying out my I'm-so-over-Lily-Evans-I'm-so-grown-up-and-mature plan. The point is, I'd listen to you, Lily, I'd take all your words to heart, if only you meant them.

Because, honestly? I think you're just as crazy about me as I am about you. I think the reason you keep your distance is because you're scared. I think you feel the same spark that I do whenever our hands accidentally brush. I think that when we're in tight quarters, sitting close to each other in class or at Heads meetings, it drives you a little insane. Sometimes when you look at me, really look at me, not that shades-closed, blinds drawn sheltered glance, but when you look me full in the face, I get chills. I can practically hear the soundtrack of our lives playing in the background.

I know, I know as certainly as I know my own name, that I was meant to be with you, Lily Evans. But it isn't supposed to be this hard, you know? At the rate we're going, I'll have gray hair before you agree to let me buy you dinner. And I want so much more than that for us. I want the whole thing, the real thing, the forever thing. It's not about the chase for me, Lily. I'll let you in on a little secret: it's not fun. It's not thrilling. It's depressing and discouraging and relentless.

So, in summary, this is my last attempt. If you really, truly, seriously, honestly, heartbreakingly want nothing to do with me, simply send as cordial a reply as possible and I will never bother you again. I mean it. Aside from the necessary conversations due to our shared responsibilities, you will never hear from me again. I don't think I could stomach the whole 'just friends' thing, not with you. So, for old times' sake:

 

**Lily Evans, will you go out with me?????**

 

Say 'no, but thank you' and here: I'm gone, away to be a famous Auror or a famous Quidditch player or a famous magic carpet weaver, the inevitable bachelor I'm assuming, you'll see my name in the paper once in a while and you'll tell your children 'This is the crazy man I always tell you about who never left me alone at Hogwarts.' In that respect, I can take comfort in the fact that I'll have some role in your life.

Say 'yes, James, how have I been so stupid for so long, can you ever forgive me?' and here's the second scenario: On second thought, don't say anything. Just find me and kiss me. I'll get the message.

 

I'll be waiting patiently, but I think we both know the answer.

 

**James**

 


	53. Heart's Requirement

When Lily overheard people talking about the Room of Requirement, she was instantly intrigued. 

She wandered up there during her rounds that evening and contemplated trying to enter. Hesitant, she eventually backed off. She walked away, didn’t look back, and never returned.

The possibility that James Potter might be what lay in store for her in that room squeezed the breath out of her curiosity’s lungs.

 

 

 

**I know that the RoR is supposed to simply become what one needs it to be, but is it that far of a stretch to imagine it giving Lily a James, if that’s what she needed? I know it’s a little odd, and I’m not suggesting that it’s canon for the RoR’s abilities, but I think it could have scared Lily a little bit, especially since she couldn't have known the inner workings of the chamber, either.**

**I’ve been idle on here for a while. I’ve missed writing. It’s been a….rough semester, emotionally speaking. How are all of you doing?? I’m trying to catch up on my fic reading, if you have any good recommendations, please feel free to let me know!**

**lark**


	54. Meet Me At Midnight

“May I be your first kiss of the new year?”

She blinks up at him, the scene turning hazy, their classmates and the basement of the impromptu party fading and dinning as she stares at him. Her eyes slide past him to acknowledge the time. 

Half of an hour left to go in this year that has let her down. 

She blinks again and shrugs, offering a half-hearted smile as a response that seems to encourage him; he grins and lopes back to his friends. 

When the party begins chanting the countdown, she finds herself looking around for him, startled to realize she fears he won’t be able to locate her in the crowd. She shakes it off, scowling, but her expression clears when his hand grasps her arm, turning her to face him, his eyes delighted. 

_3…_

Maybe it’s the alcohol, the Firewhiskey buzzing around her head, but she finds herself leaning into his touch, beaming back at him.

_2…_

Or maybe it’s the fact that he asked, instead of assuming or surprising her with his lips at midnight. No one has ever asked before. 

_1…_

Or it could be the way that he asked, the perfectly casual nonchalance of the inquiry that conflicted with the seemingly practiced inflection, the idea that he lay awake at night phrasing and rephrasing it in his mind until he found the words that would convince her to agree. 

She doesn’t really know her reasons, but she knows better than to hesitate, reaching for him even before the new year rises, pressing her lips to his and pulling back only to whisper words she has not had time to rehearse. 

“The first and the only.”

 

 

**Happy New Year, everyone! Much love.**

**lark**


	55. Coexistence

**This has been posted on this site before, not as a drabble but as a one piece. I don’t think it’s very deep or moving, and it’s pre-Knowing Snape Wanted Lily, but I think besides that, it’s pretty realistic. Anyway, I think it deserves a fresh look, and I didn’t want to mess with it too much, so I’m reposting it because I do have a specific query for anyone who enjoys my writing and I didn’t know how else to reach out and I didn’t want to post a chapter without offering up some J/L goods.**

**I’m writing an original fiction piece to submit to my school’s lit magazine and then to some award thingies later on this month. I’ve worked really hard on it, and I think it’s decent, but I think we all tend to have a blind eye, either good or bad, towards our own work (i.e. American Idol contestants who have no business auditioning). I’ve had friends read it, but I don’t trust their opinions, on one hand because they love me, most of the time, and on the other hand because none of them are passionate readers or writers, so their thoughts may be less critical. I was wondering if anyone would be willing to give it a look and offer up some suggestions or just opinions or thoughts. If you’re interested, I guess leave your email address in a review (the more people, the better!) and I will contact you ASAP and maybe as a show of gratitude, if you want, I will dedicate a drabble to you! (or you can plan a drabble? If that would be more fun? I’m sure we can figure something out, or I can just owe a bunch of favors :) ) Thanks so much to anyone who even considers offering up assistance, I know people are starting classes again now (or soon) and are probably so busy! So thank you, and even if you don’t have the time or patience or whatever, thank you for reading my stuff on here!**

 

James Potter has not talked to me or looked at me for eight days. This should make me happy, but it doesn’t.

Confused, I watched him for a day or two, in the classes we have together, in the Great Hall, in the Gryffindor Common Room. Not one glance, grin or flippant flirtatious comment was sent my way.

James Potter has pretended that I do not exist since I took Snape’s side against him. 

I debate what this means. Has his courtship ended? Does he now hate me as I hate him?

Only, I don’t _hate_ him. I didn’t want this, this unspoken vow of silence between us. Sure, James and I clashed verbally all the time, but this time it was different. I resent his arrogance and his lack of respect for other human beings, but at the same time I admire his talents, his perseverance. 

He does not approach me and I wonder if this it how it will end, if I had finally found the right button. I picture the next two years of my life at Hogwarts, stretching out before me, and I cannot do so without also picturing James. 

As I watch James act normally with his friends, even flirt with other girls, I slowly accept that an era has ended. 

I throw myself into my studies, becoming a whirlwind of pen and paper and facts. I snap at people who are being too loud nearby and I grow large, dark circles underneath my eyes. A distracted glance into a mirror startles me into thinking a stranger is in the bathroom with me, before I realize that this is who I have become. 

My friends worry, but I am beyond caring what others think. 

I sit in the common on some evenings, under the pretense of studying, and listen to the conversations going around me. One night, Sirius, Remus, and Peter sit by the fireplace, as James heads up to the dormitory to get something.

“The only thing worse than James and Lily openly fighting and screaming at each other is them not speaking to each other and pretending they’re not secretly looking at each other constantly.”

Peter’s voice carried across the room and my cheeks flamed. 

I stare out the window from my seat, as Sirius and Remus shush Peter. 

I glance over at them a few moments later, meeting Sirius’s cool gaze and instantly looking away, blushing again. 

Still, I had a small smile on my face when I went up the stairs to bed that night. 

In the following days, I became increasingly aware of eyes on me, though when I looked around, no one appeared to be staring. I smiled to myself, certain the prickling on the back of my neck came from a certain bespectacled, black-haired boy. 

“You, Evans, are too stubborn for your own good,” Sirius tells me one day when I bump into him in the hallway. 

Frowning as I lean down to pick up the books I dropped, I throw him an inquiring glance. “What?”

“All James wants is an apology.”

“An _apology!_ ”

“You took a Slytherin’s side! You betrayed our house! _And_ , you humiliated him.”

“I would do it again,” I say firmly, and I realize I mean it. “ _He_ was in turn humiliating someone else. I’m not going to apologize for defending someone in need.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at me and walks off and I reflect for a moment on how much I hate all the prejudice in the magical community. 

James and I don’t talk much for the rest of the year, only when we’re forced to in class or social situations. While I had convinced myself at one point that I had hated his constant attention on me, I found now that I preferred it to this awkward standoff. 

Sixth year dawns bright and James Potter arrives on the train with a grin for me and a breezy ‘Hey, Evans, how was your summer?’ 

He’s gone before I can even answer and I sigh. Still, it takes time, but we’re back to an easy banter by Halloween, and I recognize that he’s grown up some. Not completely, he’s still immature and I still overhear tales of his hatred of Snape and other Slytherins, but he’s changing, he’s in between. 

We’re friends before I notice what’s going on and I know that I’m in trouble on a cold winter day when he takes my arm as we’re leaving the Great Hall, pulling me away from our dinner group to talk to me privately, his intoxicating eyes earnest and honest.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry?” 

“For last year. For out by the lake. For everything. For holding a grudge.”

“James,” I say, smiling, “that’s all in the past. We’re friends now.”

“I just needed you to know that I realized I was wrong.” 

We stare at each other, until it becomes uncomfortable, and I smile shakily. “Well, thank you, James. It means a lot.” 

He smiles back and we catch up with the rest of the group, but I’m not myself for the rest of the day. 

I’m in so much trouble when it comes to James Potter. 


	56. Green Eyed for a Reason

**Idk, apparently I broke Kitchen Sink. This is the newest chapter, but now it is probably going to show up twice? I'm confused.**             

 

            The maturity of her relationship with James surprises her. Sometimes, it’s downright annoying.

            “Do you never get jealous?” she finally snaps one day, as a fifth year who’d been flirting with her walks away. 

            Startled, he looks up from the essay he’d been working on, taking in the hands on her hips, the aggressive stance, the narrow squint of her eyes.

            “Say what now?” he asks calmly, leaning back against the couch.

            “Sam Davies was practically asking to take my clothes off just now, and you didn’t even care!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.

            “Lily,” he says, rolling his eyes.

            “No,” she spits, “don’t dismiss this.” 

            “Come here.” 

            She goes. And then her face crumples, her anger evaporating.

            “Do you not care?” she asks, her eyes in her lap and her voice trembling.

            “ _Lily._ ”

            But she won’t look at him, and it takes both his hands to lift her head, but her eyes still stubbornly focus on some random point beyond his left shoulder. 

            “Lily,” he says again, and he’s smiling, shaking his head at her. “Someone else is always going to want you.”

            At that, she looks at him, one brow arching above its pair. 

            “If I trust that you’re not with anyone else, that you don’t _want_ to be with anyone else, then what’s the point in jealousy?” 

            She considers that, chewing on her lower lip. 

            “The thought of you with someone else literally makes me sick. Until it’s something to worry about, why put myself through that?”

            He hesitates, thinking, studying her. She seems at a loss for words, a rarity for her. 

            “Do I have something to worry about?”

            It is her turn to roll her eyes.

            “Of course not.”

            Pause.

            “I’m sorry,” she says finally, embarrassed. “It’s just that sometimes when I see a girl standing too close to you, or batting her eyelashes, or daring to brush up against you, I want to hex her into next week.”

            He laughs then. “You know I don’t think of anyone else that way.”

            “I trust you,” she says, nodding. “I guess it’s just insecurity.”

            He considers that, as the fifth year from earlier walks by, shooting a glance at Lily as he does so. His eyes narrow, and his fists clench. 

            “Hey Davies, you look at my girlfriend like that again, and the only thing you’re gonna be seeing is the Hospital Wing for a good long while.” 

            The younger boy’s eyes widen, and he scurries away.

            She bursts out laughing, and dives into his arms, planting kisses all over his face. “Such a prat.”

            He laughs, too, running his hands through her hair. “I feel kind of sorry for them all.”

            “Sorry?”

            He nods, placing his lips gently against her forehead for a long moment.

            “If I have my way, none of them will ever have the chance to be with you.” 


	57. Watching

James feels lucky, in a way, that Lily despised him for so long. 

He gets to watch her fall in love. 

He gets to see all the different stages, knowing what’s coming. Recognizing the signs is exciting. The most frustrating is the first part, the denial stage, where she refuses to admit she feels anything at all for him. He finds that he almost feels sympathy for her, but not quite. She’s still being horrid to him, after all. 

“You’re in love with me,” he says to her one day, after she’s been incredibly short with him for an entire Heads meeting. “You just don’t know it yet.” 

She splutters and turns red and is fairly unreasonable for a few days. He doesn’t mind. 

There’s jealousy, where she hates any girl he talks to. Once he notices, he takes great care to flirt obnoxiously with any girl he can. She splutters and turns red and is fairly unreasonable for a few days. The pattern is comforting. 

“Okay,” she finally accepts, “so I’m in love with you. That doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.” 

He smiles, tilting his head as one eyebrow elevates skyward. “In a battle of patience, I think I’ll outlast you.”

He thinks she might splutter and turn red and be unreasonable for a few days, but instead she rolls her eyes, heaves a deep sigh, and acknowledges defeat as she pulls him towards her to plant her lips on his.   


	58. Lines of Communication

He has not written, and she is hurting. 

The first few weeks of summer, she had scarcely left the house, fearing an owl would arrive during her absence. 

They had parted on good terms, hadn’t they? Remembering, her stomach twists anxiously, eagerly. She had even hugged him goodbye at the train. Innocent physical contact was the largest step forward she had felt able to offer at the time, but now his smile appears on the back of her eyelids and his voice is close enough to hear but far enough away that she cannot understand the words. _James?_

She is losing weight; she is losing her thoughts. _I should have kissed him_. 

He has always written. The summer has always passed with weekly, if not more frequent, letters, and she had assumed that their now friendlier relationship would have at least upheld the tradition, if not increased it. 

_You could always write to him_. 

But no – her pride would snarl and rage, and penning the first letter would send a message she is not certain she wants him to receive.  

August arrives by the time she realizes what has happened to her. Pausing, puzzled, in the middle of organizing her trunk to take to the train station, she shakes her head, refusing to believe it. _I have not missed James Potter._

She shakes her head again, more emphatically this time, and it is while she is repeating that thought out loud that she turns to her bedroom window in surprise. 

With mixed expectations, she accepts the impatient owl’s letter and unravels the parchment to discover the familiar handwriting she’d been craving all summer. 

_Lily,_

_Bet you’ve missed me._

_(Don’t roll your eyes – that was a joke.)_

_Seriously, though, I’m excited to work with you this year. I think we could really accomplish a lot together. I know we haven’t always gotten along (*you haven’t always tolerated the fact that I can be a prat and a half), but it’s gotten better and I’m not looking at being Head Boy as a joke or anything – I know that it’s not. And I’m going to prove it to you, starting on the train tomorrow._

_Plus, how cool is it that two Gryffindors were chosen? We could do some serious damage._

_(Again, kidding.)_

_(Kind of.)_

_For what it’s worth, and I know that might not be a whole lot, I’ve really missed you._

_James_


End file.
